


Dissapointment Smells a Lot Like Vodka

by TracedViolet



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Hospitalization, M/M, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 09:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21176807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TracedViolet/pseuds/TracedViolet
Summary: Grif has too much to drink and it gets very much out of hand. Good thing Simmons is there to help.





	1. Chapter 1

Grif stumbled back into the base, missing his helmet and his gloves. finding Simmons reading on the couch, he decided that the maroon soldier’s lap would be a good place for his head. He plopped down completely unaware that it might have been a bit awkward of a move.

The dutch Irishman put his book down on the side table and stared at the drunk and confused spartan with a mildly irritated expression that merely stated. "really?"

Grif stared at the ceiling, oblivious to the red heads emotional response to his actions. "Hey Simmons?" he asked rather thoughtfully.

"What, personal space invader?" The maroon soldier replied. the joke was a bit lame and very lost on Grif who just looked back in confusion.

"Huh?"

"Your question? what?"

"Oh.. uh..." the orange spartan blinked and refocused his eyes on his hands, "nothing... nevermind..." he sat back up and stared at the floor looking deep in thought.

"You wanna talk about it?" Simmons asked rather seriously. Grif didn't get quiet too often and when he said "Nothing" it really meant something was wrong.

"No" the brunet responded quietly, fidgeting with his hands a little more.

Simmons leaned forward, trying to make eye contact and read the orange soldiers emotions but it was hard to tell what he was thinking. "you sure?" the redhead asked again.

"Yeah..." Grif was clearly unnerved now, he staggered to his feet and attempted to wander back outside. "I gotta... go.... do stuff...."

"Grif stop!" Simmons grabbed the younger soldier's arm and turned him around gently. "tell me whats wrong." his voice was soft and calm but it was still a command for an answer.

caught off guard, Grif just stuttered for a moment before peering up at the taller man through the messy wisps of his bangs. unfortunately for Grif, being drunk worked like a truth serum on him. "are we... are we even friends?" it was almost a whisper, and the glossy look in his eyes only added to the effect.

"yeah..." baffled, Simmons let go of his comrades arm convinced he wouldn't run off now. " of course. Why?"

Grif returned his gaze to the floor. "I dunno... just" there was what seemed like an eternity of silent fidgeting before those broken eyes returned their gaze to taller soldier. "........ Why?" The question was soaked with self doubt and impossibilities. who would want to be friends with him? he disgusted himself.

Simmons was stunned. The question held such invisible pain that he almost couldn't bear it and the sick part was that Grif already had his answer. He was just waiting to hear it from the redhead's mouth. He wanted to hear how it was all some joke. That Simmons was only friends with him because he had no other choice and that he found the orange soldier amusing to laugh at. None of it was true.

"Grif..." Simmons sighed pulling the younger soldier to the couch and kneeling down in front of him. "I'm friends with you because I like you. you're smart, funny, talented, and above all that, you're a good person."

smart? Funny? talented? ....good?! such foriegn personal ideas had never occured to the lazy soldier. never would he have seen any of these in himself. All the jokes and quips in his direction. He wanted to believe it. God, how he wanted to but how could he? Simmons was so sincere. it was confusing.

finally, after a long awkward stare. Grif sighed and pushed past the book worm to the fridge mumbling "I need another beer."

The maroon soldier stopped him again before he got there. "No you don't and I'm serious." The redhead took a deep breath and looked at the floor. "You might not see it but you really are an amazing person." He looked up to convey his meaning with his eyes but the orange spartan just scowled and made another pass to get around to the fridge. 

"please don't drink yourself into oblivion!" the words held a sense of order but also a sadness. It hurt Simmons deeply to see his friend drowning his sorrows in bottles of booze but what else could he do?

Grif hiccuped. he had been slightly annoyed but the first block but the second attempt was less so. The nerd was probably right. Sobriety had long escaped the wobbly spartan and anyone else would have blacked out by now with as much alcohol as he had ingested tonight. Of course, the decisions of the intoxicated were never good ones but his team mate was obviously upset. 

/Geez. when did he become such a pansy?/

Now he felt like an ass; a whole new reason to deny the request to stop drinking. defense mechanisms once again took control of Grif's mind. "yeah, well, you can just use this as ammo next time we fight over some stupid shit." and the douche-baggery kept comming. That signature sarcasm and disdain drenched every word and it smelled an awful lot like vodka. 

But Simmons didn't want to use it as ammo. he didn't want ammo at all unless they were actually in battle. He hated the huge fights. the ones where they brought up stuff from the past that was meant to hurt and not just antagonize. The red head really didn't want Grif anymore drunk than he already was so he maneuvered himself around the kitchen until he was standing in front of the fridge, completely blocking it. When the brunet attempted to pull the door open Simmons batted his hand away.

The sudden attack threw the orange soldier off balance, but he managed to catch the side of the counter. "Ow!" he rubbed his assaulted hand, glaring up at the fridge guard. this was escalating far more than it needed too. "what the fuck was that for?!"

The maroon spartan just returned the glare hoping the anger in his eyes would convey the message of intolerance to such behavior but Grif just stood there like an obviously sleepy weeble wobble so Simmons sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can't help you unless you tell me what's wrong." he stated slowly and calmly. The shorter man's self medication was driving the Dutch Irishman insane but he was trying very hard not to show it.

there was a growling sound as Grif was yet again denied his poisons. He stared up at the other soldier still rubbing his hand. "I don't want help. Move."

Simmons saw the fire building in the younger man's eyes and it made him just as angry for some reason. His muscles stiffened in preparation for an attack, much like a cat about to strike, both of which he was not afraid to do. "No." His voice was cold but it held the tiniest hint of a challenge.

Grifs eye twitched and his hands tightened into fists. who the fuck did this guy think he was?! sitting on the edge of rage he repeated his command. "Move."

A smirk flashed across the red heads face for a split second. He was almost enjoying this. Never did he actually get to defy someone with such hatred. hatred not at the orange soldier but at his behavior and failure to understand what he was doing to himself. with the venom and articulation of a poisonous snake, Simmons responded. "I. Said. No"

Before either of them knew it there was a loud thump as Grifs fist connected with his oppressors jaw. The maroon soldier stumbled back a few steps in perfect line for a fridge door to the stomach. "The fuck d'ya think you are?!" The brunet slurred grabbing a beer and slamming it as fast as he could. He had never listened to orders and he wasn't about to start.

That was it. As if the punch had been a switch, it turned normally calm and reserved private Dick Simmons into an inferno of blind rage. He viciously ripped the bottle away from the other spartan and while he was distracted but the action, knocked him straight in the face.

Grif fell backwards, stumbling over a chair. shock. nothing but shock for the next 10 seconds as he cupped his bleeding nose staring up at Simmons. then, it finally hit. "FUCKING PRICK!!" his feet hit the chair he'd fallen over, kickin it as far as he possibly could sending it flying at his assailant. wasn't the maroon soldier just asking what was wrong? what the hell was happening?

The dutch Irishman just narrowly missed tripping over the chair as it shot towards him. it scraped the side of his leg and crashed into the rest of the rest of the table. "God damnit!" he yelled and just as Grif attempted to get up, Simmons jumped to pin him to the ground. Even as the brunet struggled underneath him, the red head held his wrists tightly on either side of his head. superior cyborg strength did come in handy occasionally.

The orange soldier continued his futile struggle for freedom. Frustration clearly growing on his face , maybe a hint of something else too. a hint of some hidden emotion. He wasn't ready to give up yet though. he kicked his feet and even tried to headbutt Simmons. All he wanted was to be left alone with his own thoughts and now this. "Get off of me cockbite!" he screamed. Clearly, he was not going to win this but he wasn't going to admit it. Belligerent words of scorn were on the edge of his tongue, ready to attack.

"No!" The maroon soldier kept him down even as he fought. he didn't care how long he had to stay there, Grif wasn't getting anymore alcohol and the truth was going to come out. The orange spartan may not have realized it, but his silent suffering was hurting everyone around him just as much as it was hurting himself.

Losing the physical struggle was making the brunet lose the emotional one as well. tears mixed with blood as they flowed down his face. "Get off!" the life time of quiet desperation spilled out. "Don't ask me those stupid questions like you fucking care! no one ever cares!!" his rage had turned into soul crushing sobs of heartbreak. there was no winning, only failure. that was all he was anyway. no one cared and no one should care. he wasn't worth it and he never had been. it was all tumbling down now. castle walls of self loathing and secret disappointment. "No matter how hard I try it's never good enough!! It will never be good enough!! why?? why does everyone hate me so much?? It's not fair!!" His voice trailed off as a new round of sobs broke from his throat. "it's not fair...." 

The room was spinning, emotions were running rampant and all he wanted to do was puke. it felt like hot ashes were burning inside him and only the wretched sobs from his chest were holding back the involuntary effort of his stomach. "let me go...." he begged. "please..."

Simmons was stunned when it finally hit. the agony in Grifs voice was like a knife in his heart. he winced as the brunets voice broke on every other word and the sobs began to wreck his body. The maroon soldier loosened his grip.

escape. as soon as the death grip was loosened, Grif weakly shoved the other spartan off of him to get away. Best as his intoxicated body would carry him, the orange soldier stumbled his way through the hall. The churning lead his awkward footsteps to the bathroom and a failed attempt to slam the door left the sound of retching echoing throughout the base. 

Simmons got up to follow the path of the orange spartan. even though it went against everything the drunk wanted at the moment, he had to make sure he was okay and didn't suffocate or anything like that. The red head rounded the corner into the bathroom just in time to see his friend double over with his blood covered face in the toilet and puke again. 

"I am really sorry." Simmons mumbled. he knew how much trouble they were both in and how many more problems he had created himself. Fighting was never going to solve anything and now all they had accomplished was breaking furniture and each other. The dutch Irishman crossed the tiled floor and sat down next to the brunet and began rubbing his back comfortingly. That's what th Simmon’s mother used to do when he was sick and cried helplessly how he didn't want to die, And from what he had heard no one was there for Grif when he needed help so Simmons would be.

But all Grif wanted was to be left alone in his own misery and the red heads supervision to make sure he didn't die was uninvited. the initial reflex was to shove the hand away but he didn't. his mind was too busy trying to fight the dulling of his senses. everything sounded like a tunnel and looked like blurry colored shadows. the room began to spin as the involuntary effort of his stomach to empty its contents coupled with the still spilling emotional outbreak. it all left little room to breathe. the orange soldier rested his head on the edge of the seat and stared at the floor failing to control his breathing. hysteria crept its way into the already inebriated breathing as the sobs turned to paniced gasps. he wanted to say something to Simmons. 

/Call for help! 911!/ 

but pride kept the words in.

Simmons noticed the haggard breathing and quickly began to panic as well. "Grif? you ok?!" The orange soldier hadn't had good lungs to start with and having them replaced by the Dutch Irishman's sporadically asthmatic ones couldn't have helped the situation. This wasn't good. this was very wrong on a lot of levels. "Holy shit! ok i'll be right back! I swear! im gonna go call 911!" He jumped up to go but a hand grabbed his own and frightened, terror filled eyes begged him to stay. 

"I'll be right back!" Simmons pried Grif's hand off as much as it hurt to do so. "Right back!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif hates hospitals.

There was a sharp burning in Grif's throat and a pounding in his head. wincing, he slowly forced open his eyes to the bright florescent lights of a hospital room. there was no desire to move. his body felt like he'd gone through hell and back which in reality he sort of had. As the orange soldier attempted to take in his surroundings, vague memories of what happened the night before slowly pushed their way into his mind. shame quickly settled in.

He had let too much out and unfortunately he had lived to face the repercussions. he wished he hadn't. A slight frown crossed his mouth as he faced reality.

/fuck. what did I do?/

his eyes wandered the room, landing on a tall man in a maroon T-shirt who he assumed had been his rescuer sitting in the chair next to his bed. with his head in his hands, he looked like he hadn't moved from the spot since they had arrived. Instantly, Grif felt like an asshole. wasn't there somewhere to hide? some way to avoid all of this? 

/you should have just left me there./

As the orange spartan started to stir, Simmons head snapped up to see the battered brunet staring in his direction. He hastily pulled his chair across the floor so it was right up against the bed.  
Thank god Grif was alive! he wanted to hug him but that didn't seem like a good idea considering it would be awkward and in Grif's case, painful. Instead, he just smiled sympathetically.  
the orange spartan shifted slightly, probably looking more pathetic than he realized. "I'm sorry." It was a quiet response, and as quickly as he said it, he looked away. his face was not just of defeat, it was of pain. As if the mere fact that he existed at all was agony to him.

It killed Simmons inside to see it. to know this whole time it was hidden under all the sarcasm and apathy. The redhead didn't have the best past either but Grif seemed to think he was absolutely damned to a life of suffering and the worst part was, it wasn't true. the maroon soldier sighed and stared at the ground, unsure of what to say.

Grif just assumed he had fucked up yet again. he only had one friend, and he'd gone and put the poor guy through all this bullshit and for what? what had it accomplished? absolutely nothing.  
Grif couldn't even fathom why the guy was still there. he rolled over and and faced the cold pale wall. "you don't have to stay." he mumbled, releasing his prisoner from the horrible obligation, but deep down inside he wanted him to stay. no one ever did.

/don't do this! you're just going to fuck yourself over!/

But the orange soldier didn't care and he pleaded silently with the wall to be proven wrong.

Simmons face turned into a frown. didn't have to stay? the bitterness of the words was disheartening. The brunet honestly didn't believe in anything except his own worthlessness. The Dutch Irishman wanted to yell, scream, bang his head against the wall because it just wasn't getting through. "Grif!" he sighed exasperatedly, attempting to get the younger man's attention. "I want to stay!"

Grif didn't respond so he went on. "I wanted to make sure you were alright... that you weren't..." he swallowed hard. "Dead..."

The maroon spartan ran a hand through his crimson hair and looked up at the ceiling. "I don't understand why you think nobody cares about you because..." Simmons laughed at how ridiculous it all sounded. that he was actually saying this out loud. "because I care about you... a lot actually... " he looked back at the orange soldier, his emerald eyes beginning to water again. " You're my best friend.... and I don't wanna lose you..."

The response was quite the opposite of what Grif had expected. he didn't know what to do now. He could handle being rejected and left alone but this was different. slowly, very slowly, he turned around painfully to face his distraught friend. everything seemed to tip and spin slightly, he felt nauseous.

Grif hated hospitals. This particular incident had happened more times than he would ever admit. The thought of all the times he'd been there and the painful memories of what the doctors did to save him made him want to puke. He literally swallowed the urge to expel the rest of the charcoal the staff had deposited to induce vomiting. His best efforts to save it failed. He attempted to hold up a finger to Simmons to signal a "hold that thought" as he covered his mouth and bolted the bathroom clumsily. 

the taste of charcoal, blood and stomach acid filled his mouth and reminded him why this was, and always had been the wrong solution to his problems. After 3 or 4 good heaves, the tell tale whirring sound sent his miseries down the drain. scooting back against the wall, Grif propped up one knee and rested his arm across it. he took one deep breath, clearing his mind and his stomach.  
"why?" the question was a lot less disagreeing and more inquisitive.

Simmons, who had wandered off after him, stood next in the doorway. "because I like you." the answer was vague and Simmons was having a hard time explaining the importance of the statement, he took a deep breath and sat down next to the orange soldier, leaning back against the wall as well. "because you interest me and you mean something to me. we have the same morals and ideas and we can talk to each other for hours on end." he looked over to analyze the younger man's reaction but only got a confused stare in return, it baffled the redhead that Grif honestly had to ask why they were friends. it was as if he didn't even know what a real friend was.

The Dutch Irishman stopped and restarted his explanation, coming to what he really wanted to get across. "You make friends because you need them. you need somebody to talk to, somebody to listen to your problems and understand who you are, who you've been and who you want to be, someone to know what makes you hurt and what makes you laugh because without that the world is a miserable place. 

I'm friends with you because I want to know you and understand you. I want to make your life better because you make my life that much better just by existing. That's why I want to stay, because I want you to know that I'm here and I'll always be here. that I'm your friend and I care about you.... probably more than you'll ever know." He hoped Grif did not notice the blush that was starting to heat up his face. 

turning his head ever so slightly, Grif looked back in Simmons direction. He was tired. They both were. The whole ordeal had been exhausting, both physically and emotionally. The orange spartan felt horrible for putting his only friend through all of this but despite all odds and everything else that had happened in his life, someone actually cared.

Grif leaned his head on the red heads shoulder and closed his eyes.

so this is what it's like to have a real friend.... 

feels nice.....

really nice....

**Author's Note:**

> Just another old RP with a friend. Again pretty OOC simmons but I was like 15.


End file.
